I’ve had my time and lost my chances. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. ” She commanded him in a low tone. Stanley’s pace slackened. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt.
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